


Auld Lang Syne

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Protective Derek, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8752024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Stiles will need to bid farewell to his old life if he’s going to grab ahold of happiness with both hands.  Well, make that one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Chugging through Hurt/Comfort Bingo prompts...I'm not sure what to say about this one. I like it therefore I anticipate a mixed reception? In any event I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Happy New Year!

Some days Stiles wished for his old life. The life he had before. 

Yes, it had been crazy-busy, and sometimes just plain crazy, with cramming in his studies for college, training for the police academy and acting as Scott’s liaison between the supernatural world and the mundane. The crazy had a rhythm to it that meshed with Stiles’s personality. Perhaps he over romanticized those days.

His current life, the life after, was pretty tame in comparison. There was also absolutely nothing romantic about it. 

Take this assignment as an example. He was in the middle of nowhere, toddler saliva smeared all over his shirt cuff, examining his life choices.

Stiles parked his car and stared at the house set at the end of the road. The intake report said a neighbor—make that an anonymous neighbor—had heard children, as in more than one, being screamed at and beaten within the house at this address. 

The fingers of his left hand beat a tattoo against the gray steering wheel. Stiles failed to see how the so-called neighbor could’ve heard the commotion seeing as the nearest neighbor was two miles down the road. Due to the severity of the complaint, the report had to be investigated by Child Protective Services within twenty-four hours and Stiles had been assigned the case. 

Spidey senses a-tingle, Stiles pulled out his iPhone and hit Scott’s contact info. Protocol for the job was to call the police when something seemed off but he didn’t want anyone on the force getting hurt. Not because of him. Never again.

Anyways, this felt more like some sort of trap and he’d feel better if he had some supernatural backup. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Scott always picked up Stiles’s calls now and he always sounded panicked or guilty when he answered. Stiles appreciated that his calls were a priority, finally, but he didn’t like what had happened to earn that spot.

“I’m fine, Scott.”

Before he could continue, his friend cut him off. “Oh, okay. Well I’m in the middle of a procedure so let me call you back later.”

The click signaling the end of the conversation resounded in his ears. Stiles pulled the phone away and stared at it in disbelief while his temper rose, crested and then subsided.

Scott always picked up his calls now but apparently unless Stiles stated it was a matter of life-and-death, there was no guarantee his friend would have time to listen to him.

Stiles hung his head, resting it against the steering wheel. That train of thought wasn’t really fair of Stiles. Scott was training to be a vet and he couldn’t always be at everyone’s beck and call. Ugh. Sometimes he hated being mature. Or at least trying to be more mature.

Leaning back, Stiles found the next contact name he wanted and hit it. His call went right into Lydia’s voicemail. Stiles stared at the clock on his dashboard. Of course. Lydia was in the middle of lecture and she couldn’t have the phone turned on.

“Hey Lydia, it’s Stiles. I’m at the end of Swamp Angel road, investigating a report and it seems kind of hinky. I wanted to let someone know where I was in case I, you know, disappear or something. Talk to you later.”

Ending the call, Stiles thought of his other options. Liam should be in classes, the same thing with Mason, and Kira was visiting her parents out of town. 

Malia would help him, no questions asked, but every time the two of them spent time alone together everyone thought they were dating again. Malia was wonderful but just not for him and he didn’t need another round of Twenty Questions from his friends. Or as Stiles liked to think of it, The Inquisition.

He could call his dad but no. Just no. His dad was almost as over protective as Derek these days.

Stiles sighed as he opened a text window and included the barest of details: _246 Swamp Angel @ investigation._

He slid his phone into his pocket before waiting for Derek’s response. He was pretty sure he knew what the response would be anyway.

_Wait for me._

_You’re too fragile to go in alone._

_I’ll protect you._

Okay, so the _wait for me_ part was probably accurate but the other two thoughts were always implied but hardly spoken by Derek, at least not if he wanted to keep his testicles anyway.

Tightening the leather band strapped to his right wrist, Stiles gathered himself to do his job. At least he wasn’t completely defenseless.

Stiles’s joints creaked in time with the Volkswagon Jetta’s door as he threw it open—God, how he missed his Jeep—and stood up. He shook his right leg, giving his hip a moment to stretch, before turning and shutting the door with his left hand. 

It was the little things he missed using his right hand for…closing doors, using the clutch on his beloved Jeep, texting with two hands because one was slower, beating off. Yeah, making the switch to his left hand had been more difficult in some areas and who knew it would be masturbation that suffered the most?

Stiles made his way down the blacktopped driveway, weeds growing through the cracks, and approached the front porch. The paint was peeling on the two-story house but at some point in the not too distant past, someone had cared for this place. It was apparent in the little details like the nickel plated door knocker and crystal door knob adorning the massive front door.

Taking advantage of the door knocker, Stiles tapped three short raps to announce his arrival. He didn’t see any cars or hear any voices. He surreptitiously peaked in the front window and couldn’t see any movement. It seemed like the place was abandoned. 

Tucking a business card into the door jamb with a request for someone to call him scrawled on the back of it, Stiles was turning around when something stung the side of his neck. His hand immediately sought the tingling area, hoping to squash the insect that had the audacity to bite him. 

Nope. No luck. He pulled out a dart.

His vision tunneled to gray as his legs turned to cooked spaghetti. His phone fell from his fingers as he crashed into the wood planks of the porch.

Blinking his eyes to clear the floating spots, Stiles saw feet encased in black leather ghost into his line of sight. Yep, definitely a trap.

Did he let someone know he was coming here? For a moment he couldn’t remember.

Derek knew. Derek wouldn’t let him down. Derek always rode to his rescue.

The laugh that gurgled out of his mouth had a note of hysteria in it and it was definitely not the time and place for giggling. The big, bad hunter must’ve agreed because one of those big boots rose up and then crashed into his ribs.

_Maybe being drugged wasn’t so bad after all if it meant he didn’t feel the pain._

That was his last thought before he gave in to the tug of darkness.

-0-

Derek swore when he read the text: _246 Swamp Angel @ investigation._

_Wait for me!_ He just about broke the ‘W’ on his phone when he punched in the message. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and burned rubber as he headed for the other side of town. Knowing Stiles, he was already inside of the house, poking around.

There was no immediate return text. Argh! Derek wanted to put Stiles over his knee and spank him sometimes.

A part of his body throbbed at the thought and Derek ignored it. He’d needed to do a lot of ignoring when it came to Stiles lately. The snarky human frustrated him and not just by the way he put himself in danger. More and more Derek found himself sexually frustrated, too.

Everyone had a type they were attracted to and smart, long limbed, attractive people who were vulnerable were Derek’s particular weakness. Stiles just happened to match up with all of his criteria now. Not that Derek would ever suggest the human was vulnerable to his face.

Derek had already been thinking about rejoining Scott in Beacon Hills two years ago when news had reached him that Stiles had been hurt, and hurt badly, by Deucalion. He’d just about broken the sound barrier getting back home with all sorts of uncomfortable feelings, chief among them guilt, warring inside of him. He’d agreed with Scott’s decision to let the Alpha go during the lunar eclipse faceoff with the Darach and if he was torn up about that decision seeing as Deucalion repaid that trust by breaking Stiles, he could only imagine how much worse Scott felt about it. Derek could’ve sworn nothing would ever come between the best friends but their relationship had definitely gotten a bit rocky after the Deucalion debacle. Derek tried to stay out of it and instead made himself step back and observe things. That’s when he’d started finding himself more and more attracted to the still sarcastic, overly prickly but ailing Stiles.

Lydia had taken him aside and told him to stop coddling Stiles if he wanted to get anywhere with him. He’d been dumbfounded that the Banshee had figured out almost as quickly as he had that he was developing feelings for the injured young man.

The cellphone chirped with an incoming call and Derek moved his Defcon level from 2 to 3; until he visually verified Stiles was okay he wasn’t going to relax down to Level 5. 

Bluetooth took an instant longer to reveal the identity of the caller and it was Lydia. So much for his Defcon level coming down. “Lydia, please tell me you’ve talked to Stiles.” 

“Negative. He’s not answering. He left me some asinine message about doing an investigation on Swamp Angel Road. I was hoping he was taking you with him.” Lydia hadn’t even balked at Derek’s lack of polite greeting which told him she was just as worried about Stiles.

“Why the hell does he do this? Does he not understand how much anxiety he causes us?” Derek huffed out. He might not be as close to Lydia as Stiles was, but the pint-sized woman was a trusted, and trustworthy, friend to him.

“Stiles is too intent on proving how capable he still is so, no, he doesn’t really understand how angst-inducing these little adventures of his can be to us. And let’s face it, Derek, no one wants to break the news to Stiles that he can no longer do all of the stuff he used to do. That’s something he needs to figure out for himself. Among other things.”

Lydia had been dropping hints here and there for weeks that something was going on with Stiles and it was driving Derek crazy. Crazier. How could he protect the human if he kept secrets from him? “Well he never should’ve been doing that shit. I mean really, using a baseball bat against Alphas?” Derek snorted. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, he tacked on, “And what do you mean he has other things to figure out?” 

“Why don’t you ask Stiles about his date with Baker? I’m not going to break his confidence but I will say that out of all of us, I think you’re in the best position to help him with his little existential crisis.” Some where along the line Lydia had decided that being mysterious was an attractive trait.

Derek realized he didn’t have time to disabuse her of that notion or tease the information out her. “I’m pulling up now. I don’t see his car. Let me look around and I’ll get back to you.”

“Let me know when you find him. Please.” She disconnected before he could respond but then again, she knew him well—he wasn’t going to give up until he found the younger man.

Derek saw tire tracks off the side of the road; the rain last night at least was good for something. He hopped out and checked them over. The tracks looked like they belonged to a car the size of the Jetta. 

Sometimes Derek forget Stiles drove the Jetta and he still caught himself looking for the light blue Jeep when he was out driving around Beacon Hills. He never said anything though because it had to be worse for Stiles not being able to drive the clutch with his injured hand.

Derek made the approach to the front porch cautiously, at least until he smelled something that had him vaulting the railings in a rush: blood. There weren’t copious amounts of it, really just spatters and smears, but it was enough to have Derek swearing under his breath.

Beneath the odor of blood, Derek picked up hints of Stiles’s natural scent—cinnamon, cloves and vanilla. Following his nose ( _he could hear Stiles’s voice in his head calling him Toucan Sam_ ), Derek hoped he’d be led back to where the car had been parked and that Stiles had just left of his own volition.

Unfortunately that’s not where the trail led. Stiles had moved, or had been moved, around the back of the house. Derek cut through the overgrown bushes, just like someone else had if the beaten down foliage was anything to go by, moving as stealthily as possible.

The scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils and Derek abandoned stealth for speed. As he burst through the hedgerow, something exploded into Derek’s shoulder.

Heat, followed by sharp pain, radiated from the injury.

It was a bullet. 

Crashing to his knees, Derek struggled to retain consciousness. The bullet wasn’t just a bullet otherwise he’d be healing already. No, the bullet had been tipped with wolfsbane.

He cursed himself for falling into a trap. How could he rescue Stiles if he was waylaid by wolfsbane?

-0-

There was a low buzzing in his ears. Stiles tried to brush the insects away with his good hand. However, his good hand wouldn’t move. 

His muscles and joints protested his position and he tried to stretch but again he was unable to budge.

With more work than it should’ve required, he finally blinked his eyes open. Ugh. He should’ve kept them shut. Better yet, he should’ve kept on sleeping.

Stiles was in a cool, gloomy, cramped space. Shelves banked the wall across from him and seemed to be filled with potatoes and other vegetable. Make that decaying vegetables. If Stiles had to guess he’d say he was in a root cellar. 

Knowing he was in a root cellar wasn’t particularly helpful Intel because he was tied to a chair. It was a very clichéd position to be in and he was irritated with himself for ending up here. Despite his protestations to the contrary he was the classic damsel in distress with his ankles bound to the legs of the chair and ropes wound around his chest and arms, keeping his hands pinned and useless to his sides. 

Wait, he couldn’t be a damsel. He wasn’t female. What was the male equivalent of a damsel? Squire? No, that didn’t sound right. What about dude? Dude in distress? Derek wouldn’t approve of dude. He _loathed_ the word dude. 

Stiles snorted. Most of his thoughts seemed to come back to Derek lately. Why was that? More to the point, why was he thinking about damsels and dudes when he was tied to a chair? Maybe because despite what he railed about to his friends, that he was completely capable and didn’t need help, he wouldn’t mind having Derek swoop in, save him and carry him off.

Nausea swept over him and he clenched his jaws shut to hold the bile crawling up his throat at bay. The nausea was followed by dizziness, which was definitely not an improvement. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried panting through the symptoms but it didn’t really help. It must be a concussion. Fabulous. This would be the fourth one in four years.

Stiles jolted as light flooded the dank confines of the cellar and something heavy crashed to the floor not far from his feet. His head snapped harshly to the side without warning as something collided with his cheek. By the time his head stopped reeling it was quiet and gloomy again but when something moaned, Stiles realized he was no longer alone.

Squinting his eyes Stiles peered into the shadows and saw a dark haired jean clad male sprawled within the confines of what looked to be a ring of Mountain Ash.

“Let me guess, you’re the cavalry come to save me?” Stiles couldn’t help but poke a little bit of fun at his friend.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek’s words were soft and slurred which didn’t bode well for this little rescue operation.

“I’m a bit tied up at the moment but if I can wiggle my wrist a bit, I should be able to get out us of this,” Stiles said as he flexed his bad hand. The leather strap wasn’t a mere decoration or support for his damaged limb as most people suspected; instead it held some sweet surprises, including a razor blade. He just needed a better angle so he could saw on the damn rope.

The silence got on his nerves quickly. He also needed to make sure his friend was going to be okay. “How bad are you hurt?”

Derek sighed. “Bullet to the shoulder.”

“Not that I’m trying to make light of your pain or anything but shouldn’t you be on the mend by now?” Stiles asked as he stared down at the ties binding his body, trying to find some play in the rope. He’d thought more and more about being tied up but this was not what he’d had in mind, even if Derek maybe did have a starring role in his bondage daydreams.

The answer was slow in coming, which was beyond worrying. “Yeah. About that. I think it was a wolfsbane bullet.”

Stiles stopped struggling with his bonds and glared into the dim light. Derek was still crumpled in an undignified pile of limbs on the dirt packed floor. Not moving. Barely breathing.

“How bad, Derek?” Stiles’s voice may have risen to an unmanly degree but he was worried. Derek was his friend. Maybe more. Definitely more from Stiles’s perspective. Damn it, he needed to get out of these ropes.

Silence met his inquiry. Stiles flailed and struggled, losing track of time. Sweat beaded his hairline and he cursed under his breath.

“Stiles, please, don’t hurt yourself,” Derek whispered.

His request was followed by a moan and it was his pained groan, not his sexy one. Stiles had never heard the sexy moan but he had put a bit of time into imagining what it would sound like and this wasn’t it. This one was deep and painful and brought a flood of moisture to Stiles’s eyes. He couldn’t stand the thought of his usually stoic friend being in so much pain that he would practically whimper. 

Stiles decided a breather was in order. Wriggling in place was getting him nowhere fast. He needed a new plan.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Mountain Ash but do you think you could shift closer to me? Maybe I can reach over the barrier and you can help me with the ropes.

It was a long torturous process, listening to Derek shift around, and when the whimpers moved up the scale Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop. Please. God. Just stop. It was a bad idea. Just stay still.”

Derek stopped moving. The problem was he also wasn’t talking. Stiles needed to know Derek was conscious. “Talk to me, Derek. I need to know you’re okay.”

Harsh breathing echoed through the small space. A cough followed by an audible swallow met his plea.

“Damn it, Derek. Don’t do this to me!”

Stiles was not going to lose another friend. His breathing sped up, his chest pushing against the restrictive binding, his lungs aching from the previous maltreatment and the panic building.

“Stiles, please. Breathe with me.” Derek’s voice was weaker, if that was possible.

He fought for the air he needed and it was sheer stubbornness that brought it under control. Not complete control, just partial, but it was something and he could work with it. He had to work with it.

“Stiles, I need to,” loud intake of breath, “conserve my energy here. Why don’t you,” another gasp, “talk to me for a while? Lydia said I should ask you about your,” pause, swallow, “date with Baker.”

That snapped things into focus. What the hell was Lydia thinking?

“Stiles, please.”

Stiles couldn’t deny an injured Derek his request although talking about his date with one guy, which was a complete failure, to another guy, his dream guy, was not really something he was equipped to do. 

Derek shifted and the accompanying gasp of pain pushed Stiles into action. Well it pushed his mouth into action.

He let the words out in a steady stream of consciousness as a riskier plan to get out of the ropes came to him.

-0-

Derek could feel the wolfsbane spreading through his body, one heartbeat at a time, despite his efforts not to accelerate its effects through movement. Staying calm, remaining still—that’s what he needed to concentrate on. That and Stiles’s voice.

The younger man was complying with Derek’s request, telling him about agreeing to go on a date with a former Teaching Assistant named Baker. Derek’s attention was drifting but he caught little snippets here and there, trying his best to focus on what Stiles was saying. According to Lydia, Derek was in the best position to help Stiles and if he managed to live through this that’s what he wanted more than anything—to take care of the younger man and help him. But first he needed to figure out what Stiles needed.

“…so I asked him why everyone called him Baker and he was highly amused that someone with a moniker of Stiles would have such a hard time understanding his nickname. It turns out his mom started calling him Baker because of his floppy blond hair and blue eyes, just like her favorite character on CHiPs…”

“…so we got burgers and beer and ended up back at his place. We watched a baseball game, drank some more beer and before I knew it, we had our hands all over each other…”

“…and it was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. I threw my clothes on and got the hell out of there as quick as I could. Lydia tried to talk me down and that was almost as humiliating, having to admit to her that I liked that.”

Derek blinked his eyes open. He was missing some time and it was critically important time. What had happened to Stiles that left him feeling humiliated? Derek wanted to go track down this Baker and rearrange his face for him or something equally Neanderthal and reactionary.

“Derek?! Do not do this. You are not allowed to die. Oh, fuck this noise. Incoming!” 

_Boom-crack!_

The one-two punch of noise made Derek’s eyes pop open again and his heart raced when he couldn’t immediately locate Stiles. Then he spotted him.

There was good news and bad news. The good news was that Stiles was now within the confines of the mountain ash, the chair tipped on its side. The bad news was that Stiles was still tied to the chair and appeared to be unconscious, his head having made the cracking noise as it collided with the hard packed dirt.

Fully aware now and scared out of his mind, Derek abandoned the plan to remain as still as possible and heaved himself over to his friend. “Stiles?”

Derek’s claws sprang out and he quickly cut the ropes away, gathering Stiles carefully into his arms. He moved too close to the ring of Mountain Ash and cringed backward when he brushed against the invisible barrier; apparently Stiles crashing over the line wasn’t enough intention to dissolve it and Derek was still stuck.

The last of his energy deserted him and Derek collapsed backward, Stiles sprawled on top of him. Derek pushed the hair back from the side of Stiles’s face and his fingers found moisture. Blood. It wasn’t surprising but things were dire and Derek needed Stiles to wake up.

He got his wish as Stiles jerked in his arms. The younger man pushed himself upright as he began clawing at the leather thong wrapped around his wrist. 

“Stiles, break the Mountain Ash.”

“Let me take care of this first.”

“Stiles, quit fucking around and break the ring. You need help.”

Stiles snorted. “So do you. Now hang on.”

A powdery substance spilled out of the leather wrap and into his hand. Derek’s nose crinkled at the urge to sneeze. Fucking wolfsbane.

Stiles said something under his breath and the wolfsbane in his hand flashed brightly. 

Derek could barely hold his eyes open now as Stiles shoved at his injured shoulder.

His body convulsed and he lost more time as heat burned through his veins. He’d forgotten that the cure for wolfsbane poisoning was just as painful as the actual infection.

The pain finally dissipated, his fatigue easing up, so that Derek could sit up under his own power.

“Stiles!”

The younger man was crumpled next to him, his heartbeat speeding up and slowing down at irregular intervals. He was also motionless and silent, two attributes that could only be applied to Stiles when he was grievously injured.

Derek kicked at the Mountain Ash but a flash of light with the expected resistance was the only response he received. They were stuck.

Scooping Stiles up, Derek deposited him across his lap, long limbs flopping awkwardly around the confined space. Derek didn’t know where to place his hands to support Stiles in the most comfortable position so he settled for looping one arm around his back to keep him propped up and cradling the heavy head with his other hand, fingers stroking through the soft tousled hair.

Stiles had managed to save Derek once again but unless Stiles woke up, or someone found them, they were stuck in this dank basement for the foreseeable future.

His friend mumbled incoherently. “Stiles, you need to wake up. Please, I need you to break through the line of Mountain Ash.”

“Just five more minutes, Dad,” Stiles whispered as he mashed his face into the side of Derek’s neck. 

Derek exhaled in a long sigh. He wished Stiles was in his bed, dreaming, ignoring his alarm clock. The wound on the right side of his friend’s head that continued to bleed sluggishly told a different story. “Stiles, open your eyes. I need you to use your spark to let us out.”

Stiles roused himself, trying to sit up. He threw his right arm out and muffled a scream, panting and whimpering through intense pain.

Derek’s hand slid under Stiles’s shirt, seeking bare skin, siphoning the agony as Stiles sobbed into his shoulder.

Prying at the hand cradled against Stiles’s chest with a tender touch, Derek frowned as he saw the new damage to Stiles’s right hand. The appendage was misshapen, bones poking against the thin skin. The right side of Stiles’s body had borne the brunt of his weight as he’d pushed the chair over and the young man was paying the price for his courageous, yet foolish, actions.

Nuzzling the soft hair under his chin, Derek crooned at the injured young man. “I’ve got you, Stiles. Just stay with me.”

When Stiles’s body subsided from quaking into mild tremors, Derek eased him away from his body to get a good look at him.

Stiles’s eyes were open but his stare was vacant. This lack of awareness in the usually expressive face Derek had grown fond of was more concerning than the fine bones poking through Stiles’s skin.

Derek gathered him against his body again, his hand still pressed into Stiles’s hip, continuing to draw pain away from him. His head was dizzy with the effort but he needed to do something to ease the discomfort his friend was in.

The voice was soft and small. “Derek, I don’t feel good.”

“I know, honey. I need to get you help but you’re going to have to break the line first. Can you do that?”

Stiles eased away from him, eyes wide, pupils so dilated in the darkness they ate up the pretty brown. “Did you just call me honey?”

“Break the line and I’ll answer your question.” Stiles was true to form, eager to exchange anything for information, as he leaned over and, using his good hand this time, drew a finger through the powder on the floor.

The tension seeped out of the room and Derek sighed with relief. He could move freely now.

With his arms still around Stiles, Derek climbed to his feet, cradling the rangy body against his. “I did call you honey. What are you going to do about it?”

“Mmmm. Nothing. I like the way it sounds. Gonna take a nap now.”

The tension in Stiles’s body relaxed in increments until he drooped in Derek’s arms, muscles lax. His heartbeat was at least steady which kept Derek from freaking out.

Derek headed for the door, precious burden cradled protectively in his hold. It was time for Derek to repay Stiles’s actions and get him the help he needed.

-0-

Stiles woke with a jolt, eyes flying open in a panic. “Derek!”

“Easy, Son. Derek just went home to shower and change. You’re both okay now.” His dad's voice was tired but patient. In other words, it was the tone Stiles was most used to his dad using around him.

His heart retreated out of his throat and back into his chest where it belonged. “Hospital?”

His dad hovered over him, fussing with the blanket, tucking it around his neck. “Hospital. Concussion, cracked ribs and your hand is back in a cast. But you’re going to be okay.”

Stiles moistened his lips with an equally dry tongue. His dad fiddled with the controls at the side of the bed and Stiles’s upper body tilted upward. He blinked his eyes as dizziness assailed him; this definitely felt like a concussion. A straw pushed between his lips and he took long pulls of water until his dad moved the cup away. “Easy there, you don’t want to make yourself sick.”

His ribs throbbed and his head banged in harmony causing an unpleasant dissonance. He definitely didn’t want to throw up. Thankfully he couldn’t feel his hand. That should’ve been cause for concern but Stiles would deal with that eventually.

“How long was I out?” Stiles asked, his good hand worrying at the blanket. He had a vague memory of Derek scooping him up in his arms like the dreaded damsel in distress he didn’t want to be and then everything after that was hazy. 

“This time?” his dad queried. 

“What do you mean this time? How long have I been in the hospital?” Stiles’s voice rose unpleasantly which reminded him the concussion was lying in wait to make him more miserable.

His dad lowered the head of the bed so Stiles was lying flat again. His dad cupped his cheek brushing away the moisture Stiles hadn’t even been aware of shedding from his eyes. “You’ve been here two days. We’ve had this conversation, or a variation of it, four other times. You seem more lucid this time, like it might take.”

Stiles searched his memory. He didn’t remember waking up before. He really hated concussions. He hated not being in control. Well, unless he consented to give up control to someone he trusted…he thought that might be different.

“How long do I have to be in here?” He appreciated the hard work of the staff but he didn’t want to hang around one minute longer than he had to—it was impossible to rest in this place what with the nurses taking vitals around the clock and then there was the food, which was revolting, and the memories. 

“The doctor said as soon as your concussion symptoms ease up we can take you home. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.” His dad fussed with his blanket some more.

“My hand is going to be okay?” Stiles probed. Sometimes his dad withheld information if he thought it would cause Stiles a setback. Stiles could, and did, bitch about that little habit but Stiles did the same.

“Yes, Stiles. It should heal fine,” his dad insisted.

“They didn’t go ahead and put that prosthetic arm on for me like I asked for before?” Stiles frowned. “I mean I could so rock the Winter Soldier gig.”

Stiles stared at his right hand, wrapped in gauze, and then it hit him. “Wait, I can’t be Bucky—it would have to be my left arm in order for me to pull that off.” Stiles frowned. Or maybe he pouted. 

Stiles’s dad smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. “What about Steve Austin? Would that work?”

“Who?” Stiles didn’t recognize the name. Maybe his concussion was worse than he thought.

“You know, Six Million Dollar Man? Has a bionic right arm? Ringing any bells?” His dad teased.

Stiles concentrated but he couldn’t remember the specific pop culture reference his dad was talking about and that made this a sad, sad day because it was fun when his dad played along with him.

“Hey, it’s okay, son. How about if we watch _Six Million Dollar Man_ on Netflakes when I get you home,?” his dad suggested.

“It’s Netflix, Dad,” Stiles automatically corrected; his dad never got the name of that app right and Stiles knew it was just his old man yanking his chain.

“Just checking,” his dad answered. “I was getting worried there for a minute.” 

There was something Stiles wanted to ask his dad. Something to do with Derek. A yawn interrupted his train of thought. 

His dad cleared his throat. “Marisol has stopped by each day. She’s pissed you didn’t follow protocol but I think she’s more mad at herself. She said something about sending you out on all of the dangerous reports because you’re so fearless.” 

Marisol was one to talk. His supervisor with Child Protective Services had been doing this job for twenty years and the stories she sometimes shared were downright incredible. And harrowing. Stiles didn’t know how she could keep on without burning out. 

When his dad tugged at his own hair, a tell they both had in common when they were nervous, Stiles went on alert; he wasn’t going to like whatever his dad said next.

“Stiles, everyone who knows you knows that you’re a, what did Lydia call it? A bad ass mother fucker.” Stiles snorted loudly. There was just something about hearing a parent curse that never failed to amuse him. “But you know you don’t have anything to prove, right? You don’t have to keep taking dangerous assignments or putting yourself at risk.”

There it was; the part Stiles knew he wouldn’t like. Taking dangerous assignments and risks was one way to prove to himself that he still had an edge. That he wasn’t boring or average. Not just a pathetic human. That he could still run with the pack.

A quiet knock was followed by Marisol, dark hair pulled back tightly into her signature braid, poking her head around the corner of the door into the room. “Are you up for visitors?”

Stiles’s dad looked at him, waiting for a signal, but Stiles waved it off. “Come on in, Marisol.”

The woman slung her huge bag onto a plastic chair, making it skid a few inches. The purse was like a magician’s hat, Marisol able to pull out just about anything anyone needed from it as long as she had time to dig through the capacious pockets.

Marisol brushed her lips against Stiles’s cheek. “You scared me, Stiles. Don’t do that again.”

His boss had the ability to make him feel like a little kid, much like Scott’s mom still could. Although if that was the extent of her reprimand, he was getting off lightly and he knew it. 

“You’ll be happy to know we caught those fuckers, excuse my language Sheriff, and they’re behind bars. Apparently their kids had been removed from their home and placed with a foster family and they had an axe to grind with CPS. You just happened to stumble into their revenge scheme. Los pendejos. Que forros.”

Marisol went on in that vein for a good minute. As far as Stiles’s Spanish stretched, which admittedly wasn’t very far, she was exhausting her repertoire of words for dumbass and douche.

Stiles would’ve laid money on being the victim of hunters. Then again hunters could be shitty parents, same as anyone else. He’d assumed he’d been the bait for a trap set for Scotty but maybe he’d been the quarry all along and Derek had just been a bonus. Huh.

“When you have medical clearance we’re going to have a long talk about your duties. Maybe it’s time we moved you from assessment to ongoing. You do have a way with los ninos, it would be a shame not to exploit that gift. Now you’re looking a little peaky. I think it’s time for you to get some rest, Stiles.” After another smack of lips against his cheek Marisol was scooping up her purse and sailing out of the door in a cloud of Jean Nate perfume. At least that’s what Lydia had called it and Marisol had loved it when Stiles gave her a bottle for Christmas. He was pretty sure that little move had cemented his place as her favorite employee.

“How do you feel about that Stiles? Would you miss doing investigations?” His dad asked him.

Stiles had never given it any thought. Assessment was where they tended to put the newbies and Stiles had outshone the others who had started at the same time; he had a knack for knowing when kids were in immediate danger as opposed to when it was nosy neighbors or parents battling over custody that was the cause of the reports. Stiles did connect easily with kids—Marisol said it was because he was young at heart but he suspected she was really suggesting he was immature—but whatever, he could live with it. Maybe it was time he gave up a little bit of control.

“I’m fine with working either unit,” another yawn made the side of his head throb. Exhaustion weighed his eyelids down and he quit battling to keep them open. “I’m going to take a little nap now, Pops. Why don’t you go to work for a while, stop by later?”

A kiss brushed his forehead. “Maybe after Derek gets back.” There was a lot of kissing going on in this room. Not that he minded although there was a different kind of kissing he’d rather be receiving.

Kissing Derek. A smile settled on his lips as he drifted off. His old man chuckled which made Stiles think he knew why Stiles was smiling. Maybe it was time to explore his feelings for the other man, assuming Derek felt the same way.

Despite his aches and pains, he drifted into a peaceful sleep for the first time in what felt like years.

-0-

Derek listened for heartbeats and only heard two—Stiles’s and his dad’s. He’d been able to identify Stiles’s for years but after the last couple of days of lurking around the hospital room, he could now pick out the sheriff’s. It didn’t bang as loudly or as quickly as the younger Stilinski’s but they were definitely similar.

“Don’t hover out there, Derek, come on in. I need to go to the station for a while. Do you have time to sit with Stiles for a while?” The sheriff asked.

Moving into the room, Derek stared down at Stiles. The young man was curled on his side, breathing smoothly, his hand clasped lightly between the sheriff’s hands. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

Stiles’s father rose to his feet and pushed Derek into his chair. He then transferred Stiles’s long fingers from his own hold into Derek’s grasp. 

Derek stared down where their skin touched and then back up at Stiles’s dad. The older man was beaming. “He woke up earlier. I think he’s with us this time around.” 

The tension between his shoulder blades loosened and his lips pulled up in an answering grin. “That’s great, sir.”

“Can it with sir thing, okay? We’re all in this together. What’s the saying? It takes a village? Or maybe it’s something about a village idiot. In any case, Stiles’s boss was here earlier and she sounds like she’s going to pull him off of assessment and transfer him to ongoing. I think we’ll all breathe easier if that happens.” The other man's sense of humor was just like Stiles's. If Derek had ever been in doubt the two were related, that changed as soon as they opened their mouths, spilling sarcastic comments.

Stiles’s friends and family might feel better but what about the social worker himself? “What did Stiles think of the plan?”

“For once he didn’t have an argument. I don’t know whether to blame that on his head injury or maybe he’s finally growing up.”

Derek wouldn’t argue with the man he’d begun to think of as a surrogate father but Stiles had been grown up for a long time. Probably since he’d first come face-to-face with the world of the supernatural if not before that with the loss of his mother. But if he wasn’t going to kick up a fuss then Derek would not look that gift horse in the mouth.

A squeeze on his shoulder was followed by a kiss to Stiles’s forehead and then the sheriff was gone.

He might’ve lost track of time while he compared the hand he held with his own. Stiles’s skin was paler and his fingers longer than his own but the contrast was appealing.

A throat clearing made Derek startle a bit; he’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard Scott coming and that was dangerous. Not that Scott was dangerous, just that he needed to stay vigilant while he guarded Stiles.

Scott’s feet dragged a bit as he shuffled into the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is he doing any better?”

“The sheriff said Stiles woke up earlier and that he seemed to be with it.”

Stiles’s friend nodded, looking relieved. His expression turned quizzical as he stared at the way Derek’s hands clutched at Stiles’s. 

“So, uh,” Derek cringed as Scott began to speak, expecting to get blasted for daring to touch Stiles, never mind having feelings for him. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

That was so not what Derek had expected the younger man to say. “What are you talking about?”

“I screwed up. He called me and I hung up before he had a chance to tell me why he called.” Scott’s head hung low.

“Did he tell you he needed your help?” Derek was trying to figure out what transgression Scott had supposedly committed.

Scott’s head came up and he gaped at Derek. “What? No! Of course not. I asked him if he was okay and he said yes so I asked if I could call him back later.”

Derek sighed, feeling exhausted. “I think I’m missing the point here. If Stiles had thought he needed your help you do know he would’ve called you back. Right?” 

Derek knew Scott being tentative around Stiles was rooted in older history but Christ on a cracker, this was just common sense. Although maybe common sense wasn’t Scott’s forte; it was Stiles’s and that’s what had always made them an unbeatable team. They balanced each other’s strengths.

Scott still looked guilty as hell. “I guess. It’s just I never seem to be there when he needs me. The thing with the Kanima and the swimming pool, Stiles getting kidnapped by Gerard to send me a message, Theo, which just ugh, and then Deucalion. It never stops.”

Derek wanted to follow up on one of those points—he had no idea what Scott was talking about when he mentioned Stiles being kidnapped by Gerard Argent—but the rest were known to him. Stiles was able to get himself out of trouble in all of the instances Derek knew about, even if he’d sustained damage.

“Scott, Stiles doesn’t always confide in me but I can tell you that when he talks about you lately, he only wishes you would treat him like normal. He calls it ‘the before’ as opposed to ‘the after.’ He wants to be a part of the Scott-and-Stiles team, not a victim who needs protection.” Derek was tired of pussyfooting around the truth and just put it out there. 

Which, duh—Derek just had a light bulb moment. He was surprised a great big flash of light wasn’t illuminating his head the thought was so strong: Stiles didn’t want Derek treating him like he was fragile either.

The True Alpha tucked the blankets more tightly around Stiles’s neck and nodded to himself while looking deep in thought. He finally turned a blinding smile on Derek, “Thanks man, you’ve been a big help.”

Shaking his head in disbelief as Scot left the room, Derek didn’t think he’d been a big help. Maybe it was just the day for epiphanies.

Before he could resume staring at Stiles, someone else approached the room.

“How is he today?” Lydia moved into the room wearing some of the highest heels Derek had ever seen. The young woman might not have supernatural strength like some of the others but anyone who could walk in those shoes was gifted.

“The sheriff said he woke up and seemed to be with it. He also said Marisol stopped by and said she might pull Stiles off of assessment and assign him to ongoing.” The second bit of information was something he’d left out when talking to Scott; it seemed like the kind of thing Stiles would want to tell Scott himself. Lydia, however…Derek knew better than to withhold information from the sassy redhead.

She pursed her lips as she sunk into another chair. “I can see him doing that. He really is good with children. They seem to trust him and he easily connects with them.”

Derek took a moment to think of Stiles interacting with children. There was something sweet about the idea and Derek’s face began to heat up. He lightly rubbed Stiles’s fingers to distract himself. 

A click made Derek’s head snap to the side and he found Lydia tucking her phone away, smirking. “When are you going to tell him, Derek.”

“Tell him what?” Derek shot back. 

Narrowed eyes joined purses lips as Lydia stared him down. “Don’t play dumb. Or if you are that dumb, don’t tell me. I’m talking about your feelings for Stiles.”

“Lydia,” he whined. 

She continued to stare at him, looking unimpressed.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same? It might, I don’t know, wreck the chemistry we have.” Maybe that didn’t make sense but Derek wasn’t ready to examine his feelings too closely. One epiphany a day.

“Or it might, you know, improve that chemistry.” Lydia straightened the plaid skirt over her knees, the only sign of her nervousness. “Derek, I don’t want to betray Stiles’s confidence but you really need to talk to him about his date with Baker. Stiles realized some self-truths and they’ve kind of knocked him for a loop. I think you can help him sort things out.”

“You know I’d do anything for Stiles. I mean for any of you,” Derek tried correcting his statement.

“I think we all know that, except for maybe Stiles,” Lydia countered.

Derek wanted to call her on her cryptic bullshit but she was shoving a book into his lap. He stared down at it, his eyes widening. _The Beginner's Guide to Dominance and Submission._

“Do me a favor, no, scratch that. Do Stiles a favor and read that. Then see if he’ll talk to you about his date. Stiles isn’t nearly as fragile as everyone seems to think, at least not physically. However, he is struggling a bit mentally and that book is the only clue I’m going to give you on how you can help him.” Lydia said her piece as eh rose to her feet, smoothing the huge purse over her shoulder. She both tucked the blanket in higher around Stiles’s neck and brushed a kiss across his forehead. 

She then surprised Derek by skimming a kiss across his stubbly cheek. “Just don’t wait too long to make your move. I think Baker is still angling for another chance with Stiles.” She sashayed out the door, leaving Derek alone with the subject of his thoughts.

Derek held Stiles’s lax hand with one hand while his other one stroked down its fingers. He looked at the book in his lap, hoping it meant what he thought it did. He didn’t think his attraction to Stiles could get any stronger but now thoughts were zinging through his head.

-0-

Stiles cringed as Lydia clanked her glass down on to the coffee table so hard, he was surprised either the glass or the table didn’t shatter.

“I’ve had it with you two idiots.” She jumped to her feet, pointing a finger in Derek’s face, “You, don’t jump to any conclusions, remember what you read in that book I gave you, and remember it’s painfully obvious to everyone except maybe him that you have feelings for him.” She jerked her thumb in Stiles’s direction to punctuate her words. 

Stiles was pretty sure the expression on his face matched that of Derek’s which was mouth gaping open in bewilderment. They’d been sitting around, making small talk, and now Lydia was on a rampage.

Then Lydia was in his face. “And you! Tell him what happened with Baker, be honest about what you want, and admit that you have feelings for him too. I’m not fucking around here, Stiles, either you tell him why you’ve been blowing hot and cold or so help me God, I will.”

Scooping up her purse on to her shoulder, Lydia flounced out the front door, high heels clicking, slamming the door behind her.

It wasn’t often Stiles could be surprised by someone else’s actions but Lydia had managed it. She’d also threatened him, which didn’t exactly sit well. Lydia did have a history of being right when it came to his personal life so Stiles decided to do the opposite of what he’d normally do when given an order—he’d try to comply with it.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Stiles felt his face heat up. “So, um, can I ask what your assigned reading was from Lydia?” At this point in time, embarrassed almost as much as he had been with the whole Baker episode, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug his friend or smack her for forcing the issue.

It wasn’t often a werewolf blushed but Stiles watched in fascination as color flushed over Derek’s face, staining his cheekbones a pretty pink. Good. He wasn’t the only mortified person here. “She, uh, gave me a book, it’s called, um, _The Beginner's Guide to Dominance and Submission.”_

“Oh.” Stiles paused to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know if he should be horrified or grateful to the little redheaded minx. “Did she tell you why she thought that might be helpful to you? I mean me. I mean helpful for both of us. As a couple. Not that we’re like a couple or anything—”

“Stiles, relax. I want us to be a couple. Or at least to try dating. If that’s what you want. We can take it as slow, or as fast, as you want.” Derek’s face was still flushed.

Stiles deflated in relief, letting his head sink into his hand. “Oh thank God.” 

A weight sunk onto the couch next to him and without looking he could tell Derek was sitting next to him, giving off enough body heat that Stiles wanted to snuggle into his side. The older man pried his fingers away from his face but kept a grip on his hand, holding it in his lap. Stiles’s pulse picked up at both the attention and the way Derek held his hand.

Derek always looked so pensive these days when he stared at Stiles. Stiles had assumed the other man pitied him but maybe something else was going on, something good. “You know I heard enough about your date with Baker to get an idea that something…unexpected happened for you. Based on my assigned reading I have some guesses but if you could tell me more then maybe we could come up with a plan. Lydia referred to your situation as an existential crisis. I don’t want you suffering any sort of crisis, not if I can help you.” 

Stiles’s heart melted at the sweet words. Derek was saying and doing all of the right things. If Stiles blew this opportunity he would have no one but himself to blame.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles made himself look into Derek’s face. “Here’s the thing. I sort of have control issues. They stem from a lot of things—losing my mom when I so young, my dad being so busy with his job, my ADD—but the Nogitsune really did a number on me. I absolutely hate not being in control.”

Derek nodded as though in agreement. If anyone understood the need for control, Stiles imagined it was the person sitting next to him. “I can understand that. How did that cause the problem with Baker?”

Heat built in Stiles’s face until beads of sweat dampened his hairline. He was moving out of self-conscious territory and right into unbearable. However, bear this he would if it meant he could make peace with the interesting little personality quirk he’d discovered about himself. “Baker and I were kind of wrestling around and he did this little maneuver and he flipped me over and held me down and I…I…it just…and then I…” Stiles gestured to his lap.

The skin between Derek’s eyes wrinkled adorably and his eyebrows drew into a deep v as he struggled to follow the conversation. He didn’t interrupt and usually Stiles would’ve been grateful but at this point he’d welcome any interruption—a space ship crash landing in the back yard, a streaker running down the middle of the room…anything. 

No such luck. Stiles wiped his left damp palm on his thigh. At this rate he was going to need a towel and maybe a water bottle he was sweating so much. “See, I have had hints here and there that I might have certain…kinks. You actually helped me figure some of them out with throwing me against walls and stuff when we first met.”

Derek opened his mouth to object but Stiles quelled him with a look. It was something Marisol had taught him at work, an effective tool when dealing with quarrelsome parents, and he’d been able to hone its use. “What I’m trying to say here is that Baker got physical with me and I…” Stiles motioned to his lap again.

“Is that sign language I’m supposed to understand? Because I’m not. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” Derek glowered at Stiles and it really was reminiscent of when they first met. The expression turned to horror. “Baker didn’t take advantage of you did he? I will rip him apart if he hurt you!”

Stiles was back to feeling horrified. “Jesus, no, Derek. Baker was great. He didn’t even make me feel bad. In fact he asked me out on another date even though, I, you know…”

“No! I don’t know! That’s the problem! What are you trying to tell me?!” Derek demanded.

“He held me down and it turned me on and I came in my pants! Are you happy now? It was completely humiliating.” Stiles buried his face back in his hand again.

“Oh thank God.”

Stiles glared up at Derek from between his fingers. “What do you mean? I just told you about the single most humiliating experience of my life, and believe me I have many to choose from, and that’s a relief to you?” Stiles slugged Derek in his overdeveloped biceps. “What the hell, dude?”

“I thought I was going to have to find this Baker and teach him a lesson. I’m sorry you found that scarring but I’m pretty sure your date took it as a compliment. I know I would.” Derek was staring deeply into Stiles’s eyes and it was disconcerting to be on the receiving end of so much scrutiny from such a hot guy. Although Derek wasn’t just a hot guy; he was also one of Stiles’s closest, most trusted friends.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to keep from fidgeting. “Do you see now why I’m having such a hard time with this? I thought I was all about maintaining control and instead I find out that sexually I get the most turned on if someone else takes control. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around I guess.”

Stiles found himself hauled into Derek’s side, the big biceps wrapped around his shoulder. Derek turned his head until their faces were inches away from one another. “Do you trust me, Stiles?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles licked his lips suddenly feeling very parched. Derek’s pupils dilated at the movement.

“I have to tell you I’m not really seeing the problem here,” Derek whispered, moving closer. “You like it when someone takes control and I like taking it. Sounds like we’re evenly matched.”

Derek pulled Stiles to his feet and those soft, soft lips brushed against Stiles’s and his brain went offline.

-0-

Derek tugged Stiles up and into his arms, mindful of his battered body, especially the injured right hand that had pins holding it together. At first he was content to just brush his lips against Stiles’s pink pout but when the younger man groaned, Derek’s tongue licked into his mouth and began investigating. 

Stiles fisted his good hand in Derek’s shirt and in return Derek cradled his neck in one hand while his other hand petted through the soft tangle of brown hair at his nape. He deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of Stiles’s mouth, pausing occasionally to dual with the other man’s tongue.

Widening his stance, Derek’s hand slid from the back of Stiles’s neck, tracing the knobs of his spine through his t-shirt, until he pulled him closer to his body. He was firm but gentle, taking care not to aggravate Stiles’s bruises.

Derek was pleased that they were both almost of a height, Stiles being an inch, maybe two inches, shorter; it meant that when Derek shifted his hands farther down Stiles’s spine so that his hands could cup firm buttocks and plastered his partner harder against him, their groins rubbed together. 

The younger man melted against him, responding to the pressure of Derek’s guiding hand at his back with a moan, pliant body molding against Derek’s. Stiles began to rub his groin into Derek’s in time with the thrust and parry of Derek’s tongue.

Derek hitched Stiles closer and the younger man gave a breathy squeak that shouldn’t have been sexy but had Derek on the verge of coming in his pants. He pulled back, panting, and whispered, “Stiles, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Stiles tensed his muscles and then groaned, liquefying in Derek’s arms so much that he had to scoop the man into his arms to prevent him from puddling on the hardwood floor.

The breathy little sighs along with the knowledge that Derek had been the one to bring Stiles to completion just by taking charge of the make out session was enough to send him over the edge. Now they’d both ejaculated in their pants without much stimulation so there was no need for Stiles to feel embarrassed.

Derek settled on the couch, cradling Stiles in his arms, ignoring the uncomfortable dampness in his pants. “Hey, you okay?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Stiles cuddled closer, twining his arm behind Derek’s back, pressing his face into the side of Derek’s neck, his bandaged arm resting across his stomach. 

Stiles continued to hum his contentment into Derek’s skin and if he hadn’t just climaxed, Derek was certain he’d be getting hard again. Although a snuggling Stiles was adorable. The fact Derek had reduced him to nonsense noises, making him temporarily incapable of speech, made his wolf preen.

Derek’s right arm braced Stiles’s back, his hand curling into the small waist, while his other hand smoothed the soft waves of brown hair, his fingers massaging and testing the silky texture. Stiles dozed in his arms and Derek let him, enjoying the weight and heat curled against him.

When Stiles sighed and stretched, Derek’s heart melted. He could do this all day. He began to hope he’d be allowed that opportunity. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

Stiles somehow managed to press closer to him, his nose resting behind Derek’s ear, groaning. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Derek tried to pull Stiles away but the man clung to him. “Stiles, please, talk to me.”

With a gusty sigh, Stiles leaned back so that he could look into Derek’s face. Those pretty brown eyes blinked at him—damn whoever had likened Stiles to Bambi within his earshot because that’s all he could think of now—looking confused and vulnerable. 

Stiles swallowed audibly before moistening his lips. “You don’t mind?” 

Derek was so distracted by the pink tongue and pink lips that he almost missed the question. “Mind what?”

The younger man giggled nervously, ducking his head. “That I, you know, can’t control myself.”

“Stiles, you’re not the only one who came in their pants.” Derek watched the blush steal over Stiles’s face at his words. He rubbed his nose against Stiles’s little ski slope of a nose, like an Eskimo kiss. “You’re perfect just the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

A strangled sob emerged from Stiles, surprising them both. Those brown eyes flooded with tears but the man in his arms fought to keep them at bay. “I can’t believe this. You really like me?”

“Stiles, honey, I’m completely gone on you.” 

Stiles buried his face in the side of Derek’s neck again, giggles winning out over crying. “I can’t believe you called me honey. Again.”

“Just one of many nicknames I’m going to call you,” Derek promised.

“Oh, God, are we going to be one of those sickening sweet couples that makes everyone around them nauseous?” Stiles groaned.

“Yeah. That’s the plan.” Derek smirked. This, trading snarky comments back and forth with Stiles, was what Derek lived for.

Derek wanted to bask in his feeling of completeness. He loved Stiles, he was pretty certain Stiles loved him or at least he was close, and they were going to have an off the scales sex life.

The front door banged open. “Stiles? I need to talk to you!”

Scott was entering the living room, his eyes widening comically at the sight of Stiles on Derek’s lap. His nose crinkled up, “What the hell is that smell?”

So much for being allowed to bask in his warm feelings. 

Stiles squirmed into his side but Derek refused to relinquish his hold.

Scott’s eyes bulged out of his head, verging on a cartoon character’s expression of surprise. “Oh my God! Did you have sex?” His voice boomed, echoing through the house.

“A little louder there, Scotty, I’m not sure the neighbors heard you,” Stiles drawled. Derek was pleased that he sounded more annoyed than embarrassed.

“How long have you two been together?” Scott demanded. It sounded like he was building up to a temper tantrum, feelings hurt that he’d been left out of the loop.

Derek pretended to consult the non-existent watch on his wrist. “Thirty minutes give or take five?”

Stiles’s smile was blinding. “Sounds about right.”

“Uh, okay.” Scott relaxed. “That’s…maybe not a surprise I guess. You two always did have that weird tension thing going. Although I used to think you just wanted to beat the crap out of each other, I didn’t realize it was a sex thing.” Scott settled in the chair across from them, not taking the hint.

Stiles sighed but stayed put where he was, distributing his weight more evenly across Derek’s lap. Derek’s cock gave a halfhearted twitch at the nestling. Stiles smirked but turned his attention back to Scott. “What did you need to talk about?”

“Oh! Sorry. Yeah. Do you want me to come back later?” Scott asked.

Derek cleared his throat. “We’re going to be busy later.”

Scott’s eyes widened again. “Right! Gotcha. Well. Stiles, I wanted to apologize for hanging up when you called. I didn’t know you needed my help. You’re hurt because of me. Again.”

The best friends had some serious talking to do and loath though he was to give up the contact, Derek should leave them alone. “I should go.”

Stiles’s clutched at Derek’s shoulder. “Please don’t leave me,” he asked softly, shyly.

Scott cleared his throat. “Maybe I should go.”

“Scott, you already spoiled our afterglow so let’s talk,” Stiles said as Scott turned red, slumping down in the chair.

“I’m sorry I interrupted, okay? I didn’t know you two were a thing. But I don’t need the play-by-play details. Please.” Scott moaned.

“Payback is a bitch, eh Scotty?” Stiles adjusted himself again so he was facing Scott. The squirming was getting to Derek but he tried to concentrate on something unpleasant, like Scott interrupting their snuggling.

Scott groaned again and Stiles chuckled. 

After a moment of silence, Stiles responded to Scott’s apology. “You know Scott, not everything that happens to me is your fault. And if I’d really needed your help, I would’ve called back.”

“Why didn’t you call me back? Is it because you called Derek?” Scott sounded hurt, maybe jealous, but he wasn’t running away from the conversation, which as far as Derek could tell, was a first.

“I texted Derek because I didn’t want him swooping in to save the day but I thought something was off about the house and I thought back up would be handy.” Stiles paused, gathering his thoughts. “See, I sort of have a problem with people wanting to make decisions on my behalf without consulting me, which sometimes makes me a dumbass. Not everything that has gone wrong is your fault. You get that right?”

“But Stiles,” Scott whined, “you got hurt! Again! Just like last time. I should’ve been there.”

“Wait, last time? What last time?” Stiles sounded bewildered.

Derek’s head was swiveling between Stiles and Scott, tracking their expressions. He was going to need a neck brace for whiplash at the rate he was going.

“When Deucalion attacked you at school! You called me, I didn’t answer, and look what happened!” Scott’s voice kept rising and getting louder.

“Scott,” Stiles’s voice was low and soft in contrast, “Deucalion didn’t attack me.”

“What?!” Derek yelped before Scott could open his mouth.

Stiles turned and looked into Derek’s eyes. “I thought everyone knew.” He shook his head. “Deucalion approached me, I told him to fuck-off, and one of his minions decided to teach me a lesson. Deucalion is the one who got me to the hospital. I wouldn’t be surprised if that minion has a sore paw that matches mine.”

“But…but,” Scott stammered, trying to keep up. “I let Deucalion go and then he hurt you. It’s my fault your hand is…”

Stiles snorted. “Mangled? Nah. I was mouthy when I shouldn’t have been. Although apparently not mouthy enough when I explained what happened. Scott, I can’t say as I’m exactly pleased about how things played out but I don’t blame you and I’m not bitter. In fact, if that hadn’t happened I’m pretty sure my life would’ve taken a different path and I wouldn’t be nearly as happy as I am right now. Headache not withstanding.”

Derek had collapsed against the back of the couch; he’d been blaming himself, and Scott, for what had happened to Stiles.

Scott looked equally leveled as he slumped against the back of the chair.

Stiles’s last sentence finally sunk in. “You have a headache?” Derek’s hand worked its way under Stiles’s t-shirt and he drew pain away.

“I expended a lot of energy today,” he yawned. He snuffled and snuggled, his breath evening out.

“Dude, I think you’re over doing it with the pain drain on him,” Scott said.

Derek withdrew his hand as if burned. “Shit. Stiles?” The young man continued to breath in and out evenly, unfazed by Derek’s panic.

Scott got to his feet. “He’s okay, let him sleep it off. I didn’t mean to interrupt your whatever,” he gestured, his nose twitching at the scent. 

“The timing could’ve been better but you two really needed to talk. I’m glad you smoothed things out.” Derek shared.

Scott nodded his head. “Yeah, this communication thing is tricky. I’ve got to get better at it.”

“You’re a good Alpha, Scott. And a good friend.” Derek didn’t want to get mushy but if he’d learned anything, it was that everyone needed encouragement and praise.

The dark haired man’s face creased into a wide smile. “Thanks, Derek. So are we good too?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Stiles shifted in his arms and Derek stared down at him. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of the sight of a sleeping Stiles nestled in his arms.

“You know, Scott, we both need to ease up on him,” Derek looked up at the Alpha. “He’s not going to ask for our help if we hover.”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting that. And he did manage to save your ass even if he managed to hurt himself in the process.” Scott pointed out.

Derek ignored the slur on his skills. “He’s not exactly defenseless. Did you know that leather thong he wears on his wrist has a bunch of tools in it?”

Scott looked at his friend with awe. “I should’ve known his injury wouldn’t slow him down. Not much does.” He gestured behind him, “I’m gonna head out, leave you two lovebirds alone.”

The Alpha headed toward the front door, his voice drifting quietly back to Derek as he let himself out. “Please don’t let me interrupt you again. I’m traumatized.”

Derek chuckled quietly as he rose to his feet, Stiles balanced in his arms. He wanted to make the sleeping young man in his arms as comfortable as possible and if that meant cuddling on a too small bed, Derek was up to the task.

-0-

“You look like Christopher Robin from Winnie the Poo in that outfit, Stiles.” Melissa McCall grinned across the table at him.

Stiles cringed into a face palm. “You guys suck,” he mumbled.

“From what I understand, you’re the one who sucks,” Lydia piped up.

This was the last time Stiles consented to eat breakfast with the two most important women in his life at the same time.

The bell over the door jingled and in walked the sexiest, most handsome, and sweetest man Stiles had ever seen. Not to mention bossy. “Slide over, Stiles.”

Taking a bite of toast, Stiles happily moved across the bench seat. Derek brushed a kiss against his cheek before taking a sip of his coffee. Stiles frowned; his morning coffee was sacred. “Get your own damn coffee.”

“Someone seems grumpy this morning. I thought you wanted to go back to work?” Derek asked, concerned.

“You can blame these two. This one says I look like Christopher Robin,” he said pointing to Melissa.

Derek’s eyes swept over him, taking in the yellow button down shirt, folded back at the wrists, and khaki pants. His boyfriend’s eyes crinkled although the rest of his face looked very solemn. “A very grown up Christopher Robin indeed.”

Stiles gave him the side eye. “You suck.”

Lydia snorted. “Stiles, we’ve already been over this. I heard you’re the one who does the sucking.”

“Oh my God! Enough with the pick-on-Stiles show already!” Stiles was a bit embarrassed at Lydia’s words, especially in front of his almost mom, but he had to say breakfast with the ladies was keeping him from being too nervous about his return to work.

Melissa was smirking as she pulled out her wallet, leaving money on the table. “I need some shut-eye after that shift.” She reached across the table and squeezed Stiles’s left hand. “Don’t over do today, okay?”

“Yes, Mom.” Stiles enjoyed watching her blush with pleasure. He had a hunch one day she just might be his stepmom, which would make it official. Of course his dad would have to step up his game. 

Lydia was sliding out of the booth, hitching her purse to her shoulder. “Text this afternoon when you’re out of work. I want to hear how it goes. Don’t forget, dumbass,” she threw her balled up napkin at him, missing by a mile. Lydia was accomplished at many things but hitting Stiles with stray objects wasn’t one of them.

The ladies exited in a chorus of goodbyes. 

Derek squeezed his thigh. “So you ready for this?”

“I feel good and it’s only for half days this week. Marisol wants to ease me into the new unit,” Stiles replied, smiling.

“And you remembered your medication?” Derek questioned.

Stiles stared into Derek’s beautiful hazel eyes. Today they were more green than brown. He could stare into them forever, watching them change color. He made himself sigh in exasperation because it was expected of him. “Yes, mother. Anything else?”

Derek dropped more money on to the table to cover the rest of the bill. He was incredibly generous and he was all Stiles’s.

“I love you and after work I’m going to show you how much,” Derek promised.

Stiles felt the tips of his ears heating up. “Yes, please.”

Derek stood up, letting Stiles slide out of the booth. He grabbed Stiles’s right wrist, twisting the leather thong. “You have a thing for that, don’t you?” Stiles asked.

“No, I have a thing for you. I know you can protect yourself but I like that you have some tricks up your sleeves.” Derek bumped him gently with his hip.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Stiles said as Derek grabbed his good hand, twining their fingers together.

Stiles used to wish for his old life sometimes, the one where he was on the fast track for law enforcement and threw himself into the supernatural lifestyle that surrounded him.

He squeezed Derek’s hand. Now he didn’t think there wasn’t a single thing he’d change.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the Imprisonment prompt. I had to be a bit creative because another prompt I have is for Falsely Imprisoned thus this is a looser interpretation of imprisonment.
> 
> I sort of maimed Stiles again...giving him hand/arm injuries seems to be a trend for me. I also got to use the Christopher Robin comment I've been hanging on to for a while.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
